


And This One’s For You

by AFey



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Quite some time ago, a reader commented on a fic and bet that I could weave ten words, supplied by her, into a story. Well, it’s not all ten darling, but now there’s seven. Happy Valentine’s Day to my betrothed ❤️These are stand alone chapters but all belong to the same Mirandy universe.  Hope you all enjoying reading them 🙂Note: Grace & Frankie appear in Chapters 6 and 7.
Relationships: Frankie Bergstein/Grace Hanson, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 58
Kudos: 168





	1. Ambivalence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UKCalling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UKCalling/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite some time ago, a reader commented on a fic and bet that I could weave ten words, supplied by her, into a story. Well, it’s not all ten darling, but now there’s seven. Happy Valentine’s Day to my betrothed ❤️
> 
> These are stand alone chapters but all belong to the same Mirandy universe. Hope you all enjoying reading them 🙂
> 
> Note: Grace & Frankie appear in Chapters 6 and 7.

i.

_ Ambivalence  _

To say that Miranda Priestly regards freesias with ambivalence is an understatement. Since childhood she’s found their fragrance to be displeasing and she’s never remiss in punishing anyone who dares subject her to their cloying sweetness. All of which would be no cause for concern except for the reality that freesias are her future wife’s favourite flower. Miranda can still recall the moment she became acquainted with this disappointing revelation.

_ “Favourite flower?” Andrea had asked her one Sunday night when they, along with the twins, were seated around the dining room table.  _

_ “Bleeding heart!” Caroline and Cassidy shouted in unison, their high fiving at the dinner table earning them a glare from Miranda and a hearty laugh from Andrea. _

_ “Don’t encourage them,” she said, doing her best to sound cross but failing miserably. Since the girls’ entrance to adolescence had been rocky, she’d no desire to turn a family night into a lecture on manners.  _

_ “Come on, that was pretty funny,” Andrea said with a smile, reaching for Miranda’s hand. “And you have to admit, bleeding hearts are a spectacular looking specimen.” _

_ She squeezed Andrea’s hand, but ignored the comment. “Anyway, the answer to your question is roses.” _

_ “Boring,” came the verdict from Caroline, while Cassidy simply rolled her eyes. _

_ “No. Classic,” she corrected. _

_ Andrea smiled at her fondly. “Definitely.” _

_ Lost in her eyes for a moment, Miranda almost missed the question from Cassidy. _

_ “What about you, Andy?” _

_ “Yeah,” Caroline chimed in, “what’s your favourite?” _

_ Looking over at the girls for a moment, Andrea cleared her throat before turning back to Miranda. “Would you believe it’s freesias?” _

_ The laughter that erupted from the twins could probably have been measured on the Richter scale. _

_ “That’s...” she paused, looking for the appropriate word, “unfortunate.” _

_ Which, of course, started off another round of laughter. _

A year later, and now freesias are back to cause her angst. 

As their wedding preparations continue, Miranda is debating whether to suggest Andrea carry the wretched flowers in her bouquet. Having been married twice before, Miranda is intent on ensuring that the day lives up to all of Andrea’s girlhood dreams. And, according to Andrea’s mother, those dreams include freesias.

With a shake of her head, Miranda sighs and accepts what she’s known from the beginning. If freesias are what Andrea desires, then freesias are what she will receive. 


	2. Escarpment

ii.

 _Escarpment_

It’s Valentine’s Day when they have a near death experience. At least that’s the way her wife describes the event a week later to a small group of friends. Around the dinner table, Andrea regales everyone with the details of their “brush with mortality”, while Miranda remains silent. Though the exaggerated nature of the story makes her want to roll her eyes, in truth she rather enjoys the way Andrea’s eyes light up when she’s in storytelling mode. 

“I swear it scared the hell out of me,” Andrea claims with the utmost sincerity. A sly look at Miranda confirms her wife knows exactly what she’s doing.

Douglas, hand placed dramatically on his chest, says, “Wow, talk about a close call.”

Frowning, Nigel glances at Miranda and then at Andrea. “I didn’t realise there were cougars in that area.”

“Yeah,” Andrea says, her eyes now fixed on Nigel, “they’re supposed to be extinct in the Catskills, but I swear to Go-”

“Darling,” Miranda interrupts, because she’s only human and does have limits, “I think it’s time we served dessert.” She raises an eyebrow which her wife knows by now means ‘please cease and desist.’

Andrea tilts her head as if she’s taking her suggestion under advisement. A few moments later she grins and says, “Oh, you guys are going to love this cake.”

“Only a small piece for me,” Nigel says, patting his stomach which shows no sign of middle-aged spread. 

“A huge piece for me,” Serena says, while Emily merely murmurs, “Just coffee for me.”

“You’ll regret it,” Andrea says to Emily, pushing up from her chair and reaching for her empty dinner plate.

As her wife clears the table, Miranda makes her way into the kitchen, hoping the dessert lives up to her wife’s endorsement. By the time she’s cut the second slice of Hazelnut and Chocolate Meringue cake, Andrea has joined her in the kitchen. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she says in a mock stern voice. “One day you’ll get caught out.” 

While she continues cutting the cake, Andrea rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher.

“Well,” Andrea begins, “technically, none of it was a lie.”

Miranda shakes her head. “Yes, but it’s not exactly the truth either.”

“All I said was that on the way to the Escarpment, a cougar scared me and I almost drove us into a ditch.”

“Hmm,” Miranda says, “that’s true darling.”

Seeing Andrea’s triumphant smile, she adds, “But what you neglected to mention is that in this scenario I’m the Cougar. And my tongue on your clit is what startled you.”

Andrea laughs. “Well, I could hardly tell them that.”

“Indeed,” Miranda agrees. “And you also neglected to mention that while the car did leave the road for about 30 yards, we were in no danger of actually landing in the ditch.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Andrea says, a small frown marring her beautiful face.

“Oh, I am,” Miranda says. “After all this time I have the utmost confidence in your ability to course correct.”

A snort from Andrea, followed by muffled laughter is music to her ears and the only dessert she needs tonight. 


	3. Sanguine

iii _._

_Sanguine_

“Yeah, I don’t think repeatedly pushing the button is going to help.” 

Miranda rolls her eyes, both at the nonchalant tone and the sentiment. Stubborn to a fault, she ignores the advice and continues pressing the emergency call button. As before, the button demonstrates its incompetence by not actually performing its intended purpose. 

Andrea shakes her head and makes her way towards Miranda. The movement of her body, cloaked in a strapless red gown, distracts Miranda from her mission. 

“Seriously,” Andrea says, her right hand now grasping Miranda’s, “it’s giving me a headache.”

Holding her gaze, Miranda feels an embarrassing prickle of guilt. 

“Let me,” she says, releasing her wife’s hand, motioning for her to turn around. 

As she runs her fingers up Andrea’s arms, both women emit a murmur of pleasure, and Miranda takes a step closer. When her fingertips skim across Andrea’s shoulders, Miranda’s mood shifts. While not quite sanguine, she can acknowledge that being trapped with her wife in a quiet elevator is not the worst way to spend an evening.

“Should I try my cell phone again?” Andrea asks, lifting her hair up, allowing Miranda greater access.

“No,” Miranda replies, gently massaging Andrea’s neck, steadily losing interest in turning up to yet another charity event. 

Andrea tilts her head towards the security camera. “Do you think that’s working?”

“Yes,” she says decisively, electing not to share the reason for her certainty. Even a week after its telling, she can’t forget the tawdry tale of the executive caught ‘pleasuring himself’ in this very elevator. With that reminder of a potential audience, she removes her hands, earning her a groan of disappointment.

“I guess if security’s watching they might notice we’ve stopped moving,” Andrea says, sounding like she’s not particularly keen on being rescued. She lets her hair fall and Miranda resists burying her face in the vanilla-scented tresses.

“Yes,” Miranda agrees, matching Andrea’s tone. “As a matter of interest,” she says offhandedly, “the camera doesn’t record audio.” 

“Hmm, guess we probably have some time to kill,” Andrea says cheerfully, making her way to the other side of the elevator. When she turns back and faces Miranda, there’s a devious smile on her face.“As a matter of interest, what would you do if we were _completely_ alone?” 

Ensuring her back is towards the camera, Miranda leans against the elevator wall. Licking her lips, she looks Andrea up and down and says, ”Whatever you’d like me to do, darling.” 


	4. Mellifluous

iv.

_Mellifluous_

Miranda’s first thought when she hears the woman’s voice is that it’s surprisingly mellifluous. Her clothing clings to her in all the wrong places and she seems oblivious to the idea that makeup can work miracles, but Miranda’s name in her mouth is almost magical. She supposes such a quality will prove useful for the tasks she’ll be required to perform. 

“Miranda,” the assistant says, though they’ve never met before. Except for one person, years ago, everyone involved in New York publishing recognises her on sight. “Andy is expecting you.”

Miranda nods at the assistant and continues walking towards Andrea’s office. She displays no displeasure at the realisation that even the word Andy sounds enticing when uttered by her wife’s latest assistant. If she were a lesser woman she’d feel a stab of jealousy knowing that her own attempts to make the word alluring have failed.

Closing the office door, she rests her head against its frosted glass, observing Andrea hard at work. The frown of concentration and slightly disheveled hair indicate that the day has perhaps not gone according to plan. Miranda hopes that it’s not going to be one of those days that stretches long into the night. She has some definite ideas for how the evening should proceed and is in no mood to be thwarted.

“Andrea,” she says, making her way to the two chairs in front of a large, glass-topped desk. A testament to her abiding love, she swallows back her comment about how a cluttered desk reflects a chaotic mind. Besides, her wife will merely counter with her usual argument that, according to science, a messy desk correlates with creativity and genius. 

“Miranda,” Andrea murmurs absentmindedly, her gaze still fixed on her computer. 

Miranda clears her throat, by no means subtle. 

Presumably taking the hint, Andrea glances up and smiles. “Hey you,” she says softly, gesturing towards her computer, “I’m just about done with this…”

“Travesty masquerading as hard-hitting journalism?” Miranda helpfully suggests, taking a seat. She places her handbag on her lap, stretches out her legs, resisting the urge to remove her Louboutins. As time marches on she’s starting to rethink her propensity for wearing stilettos.

Andrea rolls her eyes. “A first attempt by a promising young writer.” 

“Well,” she says, “if you say so.”

“I do,” Andrea replies, returning her attention back to the computer. “How was your day?”

Miranda removes a package from her handbag, obscuring it from Andrea’s view. 

“Productive,” she says, but provides no further explanation. The truth is her interest in Runway is waning. After twenty years at its helm, Miranda is ready for a new challenge. Still, it’s not a subject she wants to broach right now. She has much more appealing topics to discuss with her wife.

“Uh-huh,” Andrea responds in a distracted manner, leaving Miranda to wonder if she’s experiencing some delayed karmic retribution. A workaholic spouse, ignoring her presence.

“I did some shopping,” Miranda begins, though that’s not entirely true. It’s more accurate to say her online order arrived and she wasted no time in bringing it with her to what was supposed to be their weekly ‘date night’. 

When she receives no reply, Miranda places the package on the desk, expelling a fake cough.

A moment later, Andrea demonstrates her intelligence by glancing up from her work. When she spots the package, her eyes widen and she almost leaps from her chair.

“Don’t forget to hit save,” Miranda advises, feeling magnanimous now that the evening seems to be proceeding in the desired direction.

Andrea rushes past her and opens the office door. “Melody,” she says and Miranda shakes her head because of course the girl has a name like that. “You can leave now.” 

The door is firmly closed and locked before a response can filter inside.

When Andrea turns back towards her, Miranda almost forgets to breathe, almost forgets her own name. Lust has taken up residence in Andrea’s eyes and Miranda is ready to melt.

“Poor Melanie,” she says, attempting to convey nonchalance. After all, Andrea did keep her waiting. “So abruptly dismissed.”

“Melody,” Andrea corrects, “is a grown up. I’m sure she’ll survive.”

“If you say so,” Miranda replies airily.

Andrea starts to unbutton her blouse, a divine creation in cerulean silk. “I do.”

By the time she reaches Miranda, the matching bra is on full display.

“Now,” Andrea says, her voice low and husky. “Are you ready for date night?”

Glancing at the package, discreetly wrapped, Miranda swallows in anticipation.

“Ready when you are, darling.”


	5. Meander

v.

_Meander_

Marriage is the ultimate act of trust, patience and bravery. At least that’s Miranda’s opinion on the subject now that she’s a wife for the third and final time. Not that she’s inclined to participate in philosophical discussions about the intricacies of matrimony. Indeed, most days she’s content to just enjoy her life with Andrea and deal with any challenges as they arise. 

Like every couple, they have their differences. 

Case in point: Andrea’s attitude towards shopping is the polar opposite to hers.Whereas Miranda would prefer to outsource the activity entirely, Andrea’s adamant that they spend some time every month doing ‘regular couple things’. Instead of pointing out that they are not, and never will be ‘regular’, Miranda has learned to smile and respond with a simple, “As you wish, darling.” Clearly, choosing her battles is a lesson she’s mastered in this marriage.

When it comes to the practicalities of shopping, their dissimilarities are obvious. While she has a very focused approach to hunting and gathering, Andrea prefers to meander. Despite Miranda’s insistence that they make a list before leaving the house, her wife has the habit of disregarding common sense and letting her mood dictate their expeditions around stores or supermarkets. 

Still, she’s getting better at indulging Andrea’s irrational behaviour. Instead of sighing and crossing her arms to convey her impatience, Miranda usually just selects the items she knows they need, adds them to the trolley or basket, and then waits for Andrea to gather anything else that strikes her fancy. 

It’s a system that works, especially since they instituted a time limit. One hour is their agreed demarcation. If she’s feeling generous, Miranda ignores the time and finds somewhere to sit, waiting patiently for Andrea to satisfy her wanderlust. That her act of generosity is often rewarded with intense foot massages upon their return home is a trend of which she’s well aware.

Then there’s the days when she knows Andrea notices her flagging energy and proclaims that she’s only interested in buying whatever’s on the list. On those occasions she smiles with gratitude, relieved that their time dodging germ-ridden children and poorly steered trolleys will be cut short. She has her own reward system in place for such eventualities, something that Andrea seems to have realised since their last three trips have all been under twenty minutes.

With the success of their arrangement, it comes as a surprise when Andrea suggests a change.

“Do you want to try online shopping?”

Miranda, perched on the edge of the sofa, frowns in contemplation, hairbrush raised in midair.

Cross legged on the floor in front of her, Andrea pleads, “Don’t stop.”

She resumes her brushing, wondering what has prompted this suggestion. It’s an idea she raised months ago when their preferred supermarket began offering free deliveries within an hour of ordering. 

“Perhaps,” she says, though of course what she really means is, “yes, I think we should do what I suggested eons ago.” When it comes to Andrea, petty is not her default response.

“I’ve been thinking,” Andrea says, leaning back against Miranda’s legs, looking up at her. “We’re busy ladies, we’ve got better things to do with our time.” The waggling of her eyebrows clearly signifies what she means by ‘better things’. 

Miranda discards the hairbrush and acknowledges the proposal with a noncommittal hum. From her perspective, playing hard to get is by no means petty.

“Yes, your study could do with a good tidy up,” she teases, laughing when Andrea gently swipes her leg in response. 

Although their housekeeper is willing to clean every room in the townhouse, Andrea insists that she can only function in what she refers to as ‘organised chaos’. To ensure her own need for order is not upset, Miranda insists the door to the study remains closed at all times. 

“Come on, Miranda. You know what I mean.”

“Turn back around,” Miranda directs, reaching for the hairbrush. “I’ve still got twenty strokes to go.” It’s Andrea’s reward for completing a shopping excursion in record time and Miranda will not be accused of skimping. 

“But to answer your question, I think it’s something we should try.”

“Excellent,” Andrea says, her excitement obvious. “I’ve got some great ideas for what we can do instead.”

This time around, Miranda’s hum is definitely encouraging.

“Care to share them?”

“Actually,” Andrea says, removing the hairbrush from Miranda’s hand, “I’d much prefer to show you.”

“Sounds promising,” Miranda murmurs, as Andrea quickly moves from the floor to straddle her lap. “Very promising,” she amends just before Andrea’s lips meet hers in a searing kiss.

By the end of the night, Miranda’s convinced she’ll never have to step foot in another shop for as long as she lives. It’s not an exaggeration to say, that development pleases her very much.


	6. Redolent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t been in the right headspace for writing lately but I was watching Grace & Frankie today and this idea popped into my head.

_vi._

_Redolent_

  
Miranda moves quickly around the room, doing her best to ignore the vapid exchanges of self-important artists and their sycophants. Surrounded by insipid works of art, she laments Andrea’s absence. Her wife’s unwavering support for Lily’s curations is the thorn in Miranda’s side, but one she is able to endure when Andrea is with her. Tonight, a traffic jam has her wife running late, with effusive promises to make amends for her tardiness. 

Ignoring the disappointing crowd, she stops in front of the least offensive painting in the gallery. The swirls of pink, orange and cream are almost pleasing, though she’s perplexed as to what the colours represent. 

“That’s my vagina,” an enthusiastic voice announces behind her.

With a rapid pivot in her Prada heels, Miranda beholds a sight almost as surprising as the preceding announcement. The woman before her grins like a Cheshire Cat seemingly unconcerned that her attire and hairstyle are more redolent of an aging hippie than a Brooklyn hipster. 

“Some people think it’s a yam or some type of fruit,” the woman continues, a hint of glee in her eyes. 

“I see,” Miranda says, ensuring her uncertainty is hidden behind a veneer of nonchalance. It’s fair to say she’s in no way prepared for a conversation about a stranger’s vagina.

The woman winks at her and says, “Did you wanna see the real thing?” 

“Frankie!” 

Lost for words, Miranda looks away from the ‘artist’ named Frankie and makes eye contact with a rather stylish woman.

“I’m sorry about my wife,” the woman adds in such a matter-of-fact way that Miranda suspects such apologies are a regular occurrence.

Glancing between the two of them, Miranda tries to imagine how such a couple makes sense. She stops doing so the moment she realises that strangers probably do the same when they see her with Andrea.

“I’m Grace,” the woman says, before tucking her arm through Frankie’s. The look that passes between the couple has Miranda missing her own wife even more.

“Miranda,” she replies with a slight smile, before casting her eyes around for a waiter. If small talk with strangers is in her future, she’s going to need a drink.

“I’d skip the white wine,” Grace says in an authoritative voice, “but the martinis are passable.”

Beside her Frankie rummages in the pockets of her tunic. “Or we can try a little Mary Jane.” 

Miranda’s eyes widen. Though she’s no prude when it comes to drugs, it’s been years since someone dared to offer them within five minutes of meeting her.

Grace rolls her eyes. “For God’s sake, Frankie.” 

“Miranda!”

She turns towards the voice with relief. She’s never been so pleased to see Andrea.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Andrea says in a breathless way before placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “The traffic was so ridiculous I got out of the cab and jogged the last few blocks.”

Miranda takes her hand. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Oh, I like this,” Andrea says, waving a hand at Frankie’s painting. She tilts her head to the side and then grins. “It’s a vagina, right?”

“Yes!” Frankie exclaims, clapping her hands. “It’s mine.”

To her credit, Andrea seems unfazed. “It’s a great use of colour,” she says, looking at Frankie with complete sincerity. She gives Miranda a sideway glance and adds, “It’s a shame it doesn’t match our colour palette, darling. We could’ve hung it in the bedroom.”

“Oh,” Frankie replies, reaching inside her tunic pocket, pulling out a roll of red stickers. “I was hoping for a sale.”

Grace shakes her head, though there seems to be little exasperation in the gesture. “Frankie, I thought we discussed the stickers.”

“Did we?” Frankie asks. Even though she’s just met the couple, Miranda’s convinced this type of exchange is typical of their relationship.

“We did,” Grace replies firmly.

Andrea, her eyes flicking between Grace, Frankie and the painting, squeezes Miranda’s hand. “Actually, I think this would look great in my study.”

Miranda swallows hard and glares at Andrea. She doesn’t consider herself a possessive woman, but she’s displeased by the idea of Andrea staring at another woman’s vagina. Even if it’s in the form of an abstract painting that looks suspiciously like a yam. Nevertheless, she’d do anything to please Andrea. “Very well.”

Frankie’s eyes light up. “Really?” A huge grin on her face, she turns and hugs Grace. “Did you hear that, Grace? I’m not just popular in La Jolla, I’m a hit in the Big Apple!”

“You sure are,” Grace murmurs, her eyes soft with fondness.

As Andrea and Frankie move closer to the painting, Grace walks over to Miranda. 

“Thank you,” she says. “You’ve made her year.”

Miranda, knowing the value of keeping one's wife happy, nods her head. 

They both watch as Frankie places a red sticker on the painting itself. Miranda smothers a smile at the sound of Grace’s groan.

“How about that martini?”

Grace nods and waves towards one of the waiters. “I think I’ll need a few more to survive this crowd,” she says, doing nothing to hide her disdain.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Miranda replies with a smile.

As a waiter approaches, Miranda glances back at the painting that will soon be disgracing the walls of her townhouse. 

“It really does look like a yam,” she murmurs.

“It’s one of her more subtle attempts,” Grace says, laughing when Miranda looks at her in surprise. “The ones with pubic hair leave little to the imagination.”

Miranda closes her eyes in relief, thankful for small mercies.


	7. Churlish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, I haven’t gotten much writing done of late. This one is a rather belated birthday gift for S ❤️

_vii._

_Churlish_

  
With a reserved “yes” from Miranda, and she suspects a similar reaction from Grace, the foursome agree to continue the evening together. Leaving the gallery they head towards Alta Calidad, Miranda walking beside Grace in silence, a counterpoint to their wives who chat animatedly side-by-side several feet ahead of them. Though she has doubts about the way the night’s evolved, seeing Andrea’s excitement goes some way towards quashing her misgivings. 

“What did she promise you?” Grace asks, drawing Miranda’s attention away from the sway of her wife’s hips. “For having dinner with two strangers.”

She raises an eyebrow in response, with no intention of disclosing the nature of Andrea’s undertaking. It’s not something she’d reveal to a close friend, let alone someone she’s just met. 

”Frankie promised to clean up after herself for an entire month,” Grace says. “Barring any setbacks,” she adds in a way that indicates there’ll definitely be setbacks.

“Hmm,” Miranda replies, “That’s one promise Andrea would never make.”

Before Grace can ask her to elaborate, the sound of nearby laughter distracts them both. Miranda smiles at the sight of her wife’s head thrown back in delight, admiring her ability to bond with the strangest of people.

Glancing across at Grace, she notes the fondness etched on the other woman’s face. While they barely know each other, from what she’s observed so far tonight it’s obvious they’re equally devoted to their respective wives. With that in mind she relaxes somewhat, feeling almost hopeful that the remainder of the evening will not be an exercise in torture.

******

An hour later, with Andrea by her side and a margarita under her Prada belt, Miranda finds herself having a pleasant time. Grace and Frankie are surprisingly fascinating and the menu is unexpectedly creative. In a rare moment, Miranda wonders if she should perhaps embrace a more spontaneous approach to life.

“We sell vibrators,” Frankie blurts out, before taking a bite of her pumpkin blossom quesadilla. She seems unperturbed when Grace groans and shakes her head.

Miranda refuses to be shocked by the comment and simply raises an eyebrow. “That sounds interesting.”

“Since Frankie’s raised the subject,” Grace says with obvious reluctance, “we don’t just sell vibrators. We own the company that makes them.”

Andrea places her hand on Miranda’s knee. “That’s amazing,” she says, with such enthusiasm in her voice that Miranda knows the sentiment is genuine.

“It’s called Vybrant,” Frankie chimes in. “Spelt with a Y for extra fun.” She grins and adds, “My idea, obviously.”

Andrea’s hand tightens on Miranda’s knee and they exchange a furtive glance.

“Of course it was,” Grace replies drily, reaching for her margarita.

Miranda clears her throat and follows suit, promising herself that after she finishes this drink she’ll switch to water.

“Tell us more about the company,” Andrea says, her thumb slowly tracing circles above Miranda’s knee while she looks intently at the other couple.

For her part, Miranda tries to concentrate on the details of Vybrant’s inception, but instead she’s distracted by Andrea’s hand discreetly trailing up her thigh. 

A few minutes later, Miranda is aroused beyond belief by Andrea’s teasing and confused by Frankie’s rambling commentary about yams, palm oil and orangutans. She’s tempted to demand that Frankie just get to the damn point, but doesn’t want to ruin the evening by being churlish.

“For Christ’s sake, Frankie,” Grace interrupts moments later. An apologetic look on her face she continues, “We both found conventional vibrators impractical for women our age so we designed our own.”

Frankie, apparently unconcerned by Grace’s intervention, grins and says, “The glow-in-dark feature was my suggestion.”

Andrea smiles and removes her hand from Miranda’s upper thigh, placing it on the table. Leaning forward in her chair she says, “I’d love to write a story about you guys.” Looking back at Miranda she continues, “Don’t you think their story would make a great feature article?”

Miranda nods her head. “I do,” she replies, even though she still knows very little about their company and is unclear about the exact reasons for its creation.

“Only if you try out the Ménage a Moi,” Frankie says, a look of glee in her eyes.

“How about you bring one to the interview?”Andrea asks, reaching for her glass of sangria. “Should we arrange a time for tomorrow?”

Grace nods and takes a sip of her own drink. “How about a late lunch at the Plaza?” She gestures towards Frankie, “This one won’t be up before noon.”

“Excellent,” Andrea says and puts down her glass. “I can’t wait.”

Miranda, happy to see her wife excited about work, smiles and concentrates on her meal. She tunes out the conversation as she enjoys her Acapulco-style ceviche, enjoying the unique blend of flavours and textures.

Her thoughts far from Brooklyn, she shivers when she feels Andrea’s breath near her ear. A quick glance across the table confirms that Grace and Frankie are otherwise occupied.

“Should we tell them we’ve already tested their product?” Andrea asks, her voice full of throaty intention.

Miranda swallows the last mouthful of her meal and places her fork on the table. She casually places her hand on Andrea’s knee.

“Definitely not,” she whispers back, “but I think we need to conduct a thorough review of it tonight.” At Andrea’s smile she adds, “Purely in the interests of getting all the facts of course.”

“Of course,” Andrea repeats, her elation obvious. “I love your commitment to journalistic integrity.”

“And I love you,” Miranda replies, suddenly very interested in ending their night of spontaneity and having Andrea fulfill her earlier promise.


End file.
